The Glass Supper
by Zarius
Summary: Spoilers for "His Last Vow" and one mild spoiler for "The Sign of Three". Wherever did Sherlock find that engagement ring he gave to Janine? A peer into one of his 'bolt holes' and a frank conversation uncovers the truth...


**SHERLOCK:**

**THE GLASS SUPPER**

**WRITTEN BY ZARIUS**

**(Contains Mild Spoilers for "His Last Vow")**

**Note:** This is not in the same continuity as my last Sherlock/Molly fic tackling the Janine situation from "His Last Vow". This comes after my third sit-through of the episode and realizing the creators missed a trick or two.

* * *

Molly had been too caught up in her quieter state of excitement all day, to the point that she had to go out to do some shopping for a second stretch in the afternoon.

She had acquired everything to sort of make it through the day. Roast chicken sandwiches, easily microwavable food, TV Guides, even the quirky sensationalist tabloid rags, her guest for the afternoon loved delving into them for the oddest and most inspirational of stories to make cases out of.

But she had completely forgotten to purchase two items. Avocado tostadas and custard.

She wondered if HE would consume both of them for dinner. One on top of another

She knew a few Doctors, twelve in total, at the hospital that indulged in that habit. It disgusted her. The Eleventh of them also preferred it with fish fingers.

She turned the key on her house door and opened it. As she entered, a small eerie sensation crept up and shot through her spine as the daunting staircase to the right of her imposed it's willpower on her

The house felt so very...alien all of a sudden.

Maybe it was because she didn't know what to expect at any given moment...or perhaps she knew just what to expect and it dismayed her all the more.

The usual sociopathic malarkey that she wished Sherlock Holmes would shed. That's what she expected.

Worse, she knew she currently had something within her reach that would encourage his behaviour.

As she crept up the staircase, the mere presence of the man began to stir up memories of arguments atop this very staircase, as yesterday's ghosts, the logical end point of a relationship strained by a pursued illusion failing to match up to the great expectation of the reality.

Echoes of the argument with Tom that had seen her call off the engagement intruded upon her mentality. All of her attempts to get by and rationalize it fell briefly by the wayside as the anxiety levels rose and rose. She had to sit patiently on the step for the logistical barriers to steadily build up again in her mind before resuming her ascent and headed to her bedroom, one of his usual privet areas of seclusion, where he had been spending the day away from Baker Street.

He wanted to give Mrs. Hudson time to herself, a healthy mixture of her own thoughts and her feather-duster. He dare not entertain the ideas 'Hudders' was having at this moment as she cleared up the stain of urine Charles Augustus Magnusson had left in his sitting room. Marking his territory in the manner of a dog just to try and impose a sense of scale and ownership over any in possession of an exploitable pressure point that would dare stand in the way of his 'fair business'.

Molly had been quite angry with him lately. Sherlock had fallen into a drugs habit, part of another big complicated portrait he was painting, another master class in psychological warfare to get one better on the target of his latest investigation, but one that would again cause strain on his friendships and cause great harm to his public image.

She was embarrassed by such...repelling behaviour.

She let him have it in words and action. She got vicious. She let him know he had beautiful gifts and administered appropriate slaps of reality to let him know how hurt she was. She had too much respect for him and for herself to just all too cosily forgive this latest childish indulgence.

There were better ways to handle cases, she knew this. He knew this.

And still he turned the key ever so slightly the wrong way.

The one thing that calmed her last raw nerve was when Sherlock told her he was grateful that she no longer wore a ring.

Which can be easily taken two ways, if one was more easily swayed by a lifelong crush.

She knew what her duties were to him now though. The crush had become a crutch, she needed to be something more to him now. Someone who cared enough to hurt him where it counts and to lecture him when necessary.

She would evolve to match the rational demands. She felt more empowered than she had ever felt around anyone. Once it had been Sherlock who controlled and commanded any situation they were in, now she lead him through to a more manageable day where his relationships would remain stabilized even in the wake of his usual madcap nature. When he satisfied her expectations, she would in turn reward him in kind with a favour.

Hence the events of this afternoon. Where she had given him his usual space in her abode. The abode the two had shared for the first few months when he had 'died', the place where she had given him refuge after she had seen him depart the wedding reception of John and Mary Watson, lost to feelings of isolation and self-pity. The first of her arguments with Tom began that night, and they stretched further and further over the next few weeks as Sherlock paid her a visit numerous times to deal with more contemplative cases.

The all too familiar sting was something she didn't want to again indulge in, but she knew it was inevitable.

She opened the door and peered inside. Sherlock was situated on the centre of the bed, his hands placed beneath his chin, his face static, stony, and unchanging, his eyes closed.

"Sherlock? I'm...I'm just going to put your supper on, be ready in time for it because it'll only take five minutes, I don't want to shout you for it or anything because that's childish" Molly said, trying to be more than fairly assertive when dealing with a progressively worse for wear sociopathic man-child.

"Do you have it?" Sherlock said

"What? Oh of course..." Molly said, and fidgeted for it in her pocket for a sparkling diamond ring before throwing it over to him. Sherlock swiftly caught it. All without opening his eyes

"Is that what you're going to surprise Janine with? To break into the office?" Molly continued, the strain of pain in her voice all too

"Do you reckon I should hide it in a bouquet of flowers? Make her feel like she's back at the wedding where it all started between us? I was thinking of seeding the idea into her head during a conversation by phone tonight. Such ideal nostalgia might make her work more swiftly"

"I think you should just show her the ring. Don't take that memory away from her. You know she'll be hurt by everything that comes after the proposal, let her remember when she wore the glass slipper, that way she'll...I don't know, I think she'll take it more kindly, she'll be warmer to you. A lot of us are like that, we don't want to think men are...are..."

"...Illusions?" Sherlock replied.

Molly composed herself as twin sensations ran through her stomach, one resenting what Sherlock had said, and one relieved that he knew exactly what she was thinking regarding Tom. That he understood it.

It satisfied her that her reality was still in check

"...Men ,they're like little projects. They're nice when you chip them down, break apart their little faults, make them..."

"...Make them see you?" Sherlock continued

"Exactly" Molly said, sighing, "See, why can't you be like this all the time? So insightful, so...compelling to listen to, why do you always have to abuse not just your gifts, but the gifts all men are capable of displaying? Why is passion such a pawn to you?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and he turned his face to match Molly. In an earlier stage of her life, Molly would have bowed her head obediently as he did this, but now she could lock eyes with him assertively and match him in looks of strict authority. There was now a sense of equality between them. Sherlock sensed and relished that.

"Humans have this little trick about them, a trick that comforts them in moments of error...they are convinced that care is the key to solving all emotional equations, that love is the only answer. In truth it is only the key to creating an increased population as we make room for the next generation to bugger around and be precise in the same mistakes as the rest of us. This error is one that can be used to unlock far more practical keys in everyday life, I see no reason not to exploit it"

"So you don't have any care or want to be a father?" Molly asked, focusing on the portions of the conversation he had let slip out that were of great interest to her. A sting of dread coursing through her.

"Children are not consistently the end result of a well intentioned and meaningful partnership. They can be mistakes, and in my world there is no room for error" Sherlock replied

"So that's why you've...never...had..." Molly began, then trailed off.

_"Oh"._ She thought. "_Of course, all easily explainable"_

"It won't be with Janine, I assure you" Sherlock replied. "...But perhaps with someone else...depending on whenever or not that person can make a proper deduction, all a simple matter of taking a look around and noticing the blessings in disguise. Yes, I could imagine quite the future with someone who could see right...through...that"

Molly felt a bit better all of a sudden as she read between the lines with that last remark. The migraine she had received when she entered the intimidating room had faded and she felt a lot chirpier.

"Besides, I think from the experience at the wedding, you know how I'm more appropriate for children of all ages these days...other people's of course"

"It's certainly a start" Molly said

Sherlock looked at the ring and gently placed it into his pocket, "Thank you...I know how much this meant to you..."

"If it helps get you where you need to be to help other people, it means more now than it ever did" Molly replied, taking her brown coat off and hanging it on the edge of the door. "I'll get your supper ready. You're having Avocado and custard"

"Not one on top of the other please, I'm not one of your Doctors" Sherlock said.

Molly closed the door to leave Sherlock with his thoughts, and smiled as she did so

"_Not one of my Doctors_" she thought., and, as she prepared him his glass supper, a meal and dessert that would fit his mood and taste buds perfectly, she also reflected on what Sherlock Holmes certainly wasn't this day,. and hopefully never would be again, otherwise

_'Not one of her children'_

The part of her that prayed that one day he could, instead, supply her with some was surfacing again.

And in reaching that conclusion, there was no room for error.


End file.
